


Scout's Honor

by ireadhpinenochian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireadhpinenochian/pseuds/ireadhpinenochian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is <em>bored</em>. He's stuck on the couch with an injured knee and Cas won't even come out to keep him company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scout's Honor

“Caaaassss!” Dean called. He waited, straining to hear any noise over the soft tones of the TV. “Caaaaaaaa—“

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean craned his neck back to see his boyfriend who was standing just behind the arm of the couch where he was resting his head. He cracked a smile, “Can you hand me the remote?”

Cas frowned.

“I can’t reach it,” Dean explained, his voice pitched higher in a whine.

“It’s on the table,” Cas told him.

“Yeah, but…” Dean extended his arm as far as it would go, landing just a couple inches short of the hard plastic of the remote.

Cas closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this really why you called me out here?”

“The doctor said I shouldn’t move.”

“He didn’t mean three inches to get the remote,” Cas snapped, then seemed to catch himself and took a deep breath. “Dean you have a sprained knee, you’re hardly incapacitated.”

“But—“

“Dean, I love you,” Cas said. “I truly do.” He bent to grab the remote and then just dropped to his knees to be eye level with Dean. He held the remote in front of Dean’s face. “But if you call me out here one more time to grab you the remote I’m going to find a marathon of Toddlers in Tiaras, put it on, and then smash the remote beyond repair.”

“But, babe—“

Cas cut him off with a brief kiss. “No buts,” he told him. “I’m trying to finish up. I only have four more essays to grade.” He paused to shoot Dean a glare. “I would have been done an hour ago if someone didn’t call me out here every five minutes.”

Dean looked away, properly cowed.

“Now,” Cas said, “after I finish grading, I was thinking of making my lovable yet infuriating boyfriend a pie.”

“Pie?” Dean asked, perking up like a puppy about to go on a walk.

“Yes,” Cas replied. “I figured you deserved it for spraining your knee bravely chasing after a mugger.”

“Aw, babe,” Dean blushed. “It’s in the job description.”

Cas just smiled. “What kind of pie would you like?”

“Apple?” Dean asked, eyes wide with hope.

“I believe I can manage that,” Cas told him with another quick peck. “But I won’t be able to if you call me in here every five minutes to change the channel for you.”

“Scout’s honor,” Dean said, holding his hand up in the proper Boy Scout salute.

Cas gave him another quick peck and then stood and left. Dean watched him go, very much appreciating the view of his boyfriend’s denim clad backside.

But after he was gone Dean sighed and resigned himself to flipping through the channels. Eventually he landed on a Star Trek rerun and figured it would have to do. He hoped Cas would be done soon so he could start bugging him again. Being by himself was boring. And gave him too much time to dwell on the fact that he sprained his knee trying to hop a fence he would have had no problem with five years ago. He was not getting old. He couldn’t be. He was just twenty-five like ten years ago.

He let out a pathetic groan because he might as well, seeing just how pathetic he was.

The episode ended and another began. At least Cas would be done grading soon. Then he would go and plant himself in the kitchen, watch Cas as he made the pie, those talented hands of his carefully rolling out the perfect crust. Dean would help, obviously, he could peel the apples, cut them into the perfect slices—

And hey, there was an idea. No offense to Captain Kirk, but Dean needed to be doing something with his hands right now; he needed something to focus his energy and attention.

Gingerly, he pushed himself up and eased his legs over the side of the couch. He kept his left leg as straight as he could. The doctor had warned him that it was a bad sprain and the slightest bit of strain could cause some serious damage.

He stood, putting all of his weight onto his right foot. He could feel the chill of the wood floor even through his socks. He cast his eyes around and then spotted the crutches he had been given. Across the room.

Dean debated for all of three seconds whether or not he should call for help, but Cas had been quite clear and Dean was honestly a little afraid that he would take it out on the pie.

He attempted to put some weight onto his left leg but even that tiny bit sent pains shooting from his knee. He gauged the distance between himself and the crutches. He could hop there, easy. Wouldn’t even break a sweat. He was in his thirties, not dead.

Dean bent, jumped, his foot touched back down—and then slipped out from under him, the sock/hardwood floor making for a bad combo. He landed on his ass and managed to hit his bad knee against the couch as he went.

“Shit!” he yelled, face paling. He took deep, ragged breaths to try and get himself under control.

“Dean?” Cas ran into the room, dropping down next to him. “What happened?” His hands hovered over Dean’s bad knee but didn’t touch, too afraid to cause any more pain.

“M’fine,” Dean grit out. “Just hit my knee on the couch when I fell.”

“How did you fall?” Cas asked. He took a quick look around the room to see what Dean could have possibly been attempting to move for and his eyes landed on the crutches. “Dean,” he sighed. “Why didn’t you call me to help you?”

“Didn’t want to bug you,” Dean mumbled.

Cas put a gentle hand on Dean’s face and let his thumb stroke his stubbled cheek. “You needed help, Dean. It wouldn’t have been a bother.”

“You told me not to call you for anything else,” Dean said. “I didn’t want you to take it out on the pie.”

Cas shook his head and let out a small laugh. “Oh, Dean. I would never take my frustrations out on an innocent pie. If anything, I would have withheld blowjobs.”

“That’s not much better,” Dean spluttered.

Cas just smiled at him. “You should have asked for my help,” he told him.

“But you said—“

“I said not to call me out here to bother me, which we both know you were doing on purpose.” Dean looked away sheepishly at that. Cas continued, “I didn’t say not to call me if it was something you truly needed.” He leaned in and gave Dean a kiss. “Where were you trying to go, anyway?”

“I was trying to grab my crutches so I could go to the kitchen.”

“You know the pie isn’t done yet, right?”

Dean smacked his arm lightly. “I was going to start peeling apples to try and help out, jackass.”

Cas’ teasing grin from before softened into a gentle smile. He leaned in for another kiss, longer this time, slower. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Cas.”

Another kiss and then Cas was up and across the room, picking up the crutches and bringing them back over. “Let’s go make you a pie,” he said, holding his hand out to help Dean up.

Dean cracked a grin and allowed his boyfriend to help him up. “I dunno, Cas. I’m thinking I might deserve two pies now.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean surrendered. “But I’m still getting a blowjob tonight, though, right?”

Cas just laughed and began making his way towards the kitchen.

“Wait,” Dean said, hurrying to get his crutches situated so he could follow. “Is that a yes? It’s not a no, right?”

Cas just flashed him a smirk and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Oh yeah,” Dean said to himself. “That’s definitely a yes.”


End file.
